


Shudders

by PrinceBirb08



Series: Scar and Soul AU [1]
Category: Hoshi no Kaabii | Kirby: Right Back at Ya!, Kirby (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/M, Marx Soul is still around, Night Terrors, Other, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-19 03:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceBirb08/pseuds/PrinceBirb08
Summary: In the dead of night, a frightening dream may mark the end of a certain jester...(Old fic!)
Relationships: Gryll & Mark | Marx
Series: Scar and Soul AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641766
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Shudders

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really old fic that I'm just posting here for the sake of clarity! This is based on a bunch of headcanons tied to a really old Kirby AU which I'll explain a bit later...

_ It had started with a stolen wish... _

_ “Marx! Don’t do this!” the puff screams, desperate.  _

_ His enemy cackles shrilly, bloodshot eyes boring into the hero. _

_ “I’ll rule this world, Kirby! You can’t stop me!” the jester boasts. His grin stretches further as he stretches his new, golden wings, victorious. “Our  _ **_friendship_ ** _ … means nothing to your new ruler!” _

_ “You don’t mean that, please.” Kirby’s voice is breathy with disbelief, shaking his head. _

_ Marx laughs, “I do.” _

_ The puffball’s gaze hardens, all chances of forgiveness lost. He lunges, sword angled to slice, to cut decisively. _

_ Agony tears through the madman’s senses. _

_ The wishing comet explodes… _

**...**

His eyes snap open, greeted by a sheer darkness.

“Nova…” The name escapes his quivering lips, his body quaking with residual fear as the nightmare, no,  _ memory,  _ replays in his head.

Afterimages of his own death are fresh in his mind each time he blinks, unable to shake the sensation of far away, numbing pain, a pain that began at his core, radiating through his body. The bases of his wings pulse with heat, and Marx feels feverish, choking back sobs as he clings to the blankets, terrified.

_ The sword swings down, through his powerful form, between his wide eyes, jabbed at his wings in hopes of breaking them. _

The jester’s catlike ears fold down tightly against his head, his eyes prickling with tears as he forces his breathing to slow, if only to stop the burning in his lungs. He whimpers, the lingering feeling of asphyxiation racing through him as a lurch of nausea roars from his core. 

_ He feels like he’s dying. _

He groans a hushed, “Not again,” just as his vision starts to blur, his head aching with a strengthening migraine.

He can feel himself slipping, feel his own Soul screaming within, but he forces himself to ignore it, focused on sliding out of bed, his steps light and shaky. He shudders, heart skipping and stuttering even as he blindly feels around for the phone on his (very short) nightstand. Stars dance in his fading vision, his darkened bedroom looking like space as he fumbles with the old-fashioned cell phone, his clumsy hold ineffective. 

“No!” he growls, eyes narrowing as the device slips from his grip, falling to the carpeted floor with a  _ THUMP! _

He finds himself groaning in irritation as he manages to get a firm hold on the phone, his barely dexterous wings knocking against the side of the bed as he moves. There’s sickly violet creeping up the corners of his vision, yet the jester trains his gaze straight, squinting at the luminous device. 

Now… who to call? Dedede? No, too loud, not good for his head. Taranza? Not good with panic attacks… Kirby-?

_ Hrrk-! _

A screaming wave of nausea reminds the jester of his ailment, his quick, shallow breaths returning as the nightmare repeats in his head, tears sliding down his cheeks, staining his lavender fur.

“Gryll… I need you…” His voice lilts, weak and tired.

The screen glows brightly, flickering intermittently when Marx finally begins to dial, claws flying across the buttons. He leans against the side of the bed, the phone held against his stomach, the vibrations keeping the numbness at bay, for now. The tears collecting in his eyes drip slowly across his face, desperation taking him as he stares blankly upward, his breathing painful.

“Please, please, please… pick up…”

Finally, the phone beeps, a tinny voice ringing from the other line, “Marx? Marx? You there?”

The half conscious jester sits up with renewed vigor, scrambling to press the phone almost tightly against the side of his face, his words raspy and light.

“Gryll!” he squeaks, sweat sliding down his forehead. The violet curse continues to spread across his vision, and Marx allows himself to take notice of the withered state of his wings, purple racing up his once golden limbs. “I… I need you!”

Gryll laughs with unease, “What’s the occasion?”

_ It’s the anniversary of his death. _

“Gryll…”

He knows it’s two in the morning, but he needs them,  _ he really needs them. _

“Hold it, what’s wrong?!” Their words drip with concern, and the jester can’t help but think back to  _ Kirby _ , who  _ really just wanted a friend back then is that too much to ask?! _

He bites back a sob as he answers a shaky, “P-p-panic attack, need help,” one wing moving to massage his temples, quivering.

On the other line, he can hear the onion witch almost hiss with mutters of complaint, and a deep, horrible part of himself thinks they’re complaining about  _ him _ and  _ his problems _ , guilt washing over him,  _ drowning him _ .

“I’m sorry… you d-don’t have to come if you’re b-b-busy,” he chokes out, despite the screaming common sense in the back of his head that yells, “Yes, you need help!”

He’s okay, he’s fine, but the block-stacking mage can only stutter with protest.

“Marx, it’s two A.M.! What would I be busy with besides useless sleep?!” they scream, causing the jester to wince, whimpering. Hearing the whine, Gryll mutters, “Sorry,” their tone returning to that concerned voice, worried about him.

A moment of agonizing silence passes, before Marx gives a whimper, his breathing switching to deep, labored gasps as the toxic purple shade advances farther up his wings, the flesh beneath his fur turning pallid.

“I’m on my way, don’t worry,” Gryll assures.

“J-just… stay with me,  _ please _ .” Marx can’t stand the desperation in his voice, scolding himself for sounding so pathetic.

“Okay, I’m right here. You okay, buddy?” the onion witch questions.

“Mmhm.” Coherency has already left the jester’s mind, the phone slipping from his grip again as he struggles to remain conscious, his thoughts hazy and tired. His nightmare replays again, repeating behind his eyelids like a movie. His heart stutters.

_ Kirby’s blade swings with a beam of light, renders him butter, falling in two, and then he’s gone. _

“I’m bringing Magolor, okay,” Gryll says through the phone. Something in their tone changes when Marx fails to answer. “We’re almost there, just stay awake Marxie, please.”

He nods, although he can no longer bring himself to even look at the phone.

_ Marx flails to escape death as he flies towards the comet, screeching. He’s sorry, he doesn’t want this,  _ **_wake up_ ** _! _

“Please, Maruku, just stay conscious, I’m almost there, five minutes.”

_ The emptiness is suffocating him. _

“Maruku Sonata… wake up, you grape… we love you.”

The door crashes open, the onion witch and Halcandran wizard instantly at the jester’s side. His breathing is almost nonexistent as Gryll pulls him closer, shaking him like a ragdoll at his lack of response.

“Maruku!” Their voice is raw, tears slipping down their cheeks. Magolor’s yellow eyes dim as Marx’s form goes still, the cold of the night settling into his frail, plush body.

_ Marx crashes into Nova... _


End file.
